


Restless Hearts

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arranged marriage fic set in an alternate pseudo-medieval universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swishywillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishywillow/gifts).



> A thank you to swishywillow for letting me publish anonymously through her back when I was too scared to post my own fics.

“He’s very handsome you know.”

Madge made a noncommittal noise, not in the mood to listen to Delly’s attempts to cheer her up.  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  She was supposed to marry the crown prince, a tall blond man with devastatingly handsome brown eyes.  Eyes that looked into her soul and understood her completely.  Eyes that were endlessly deep, eyes that were sympathetic and kind.  Eyes that were forever closed.  Madge was supposed to be a princess, not the wife of some formerly-exiled nobody that she’d never met.  She and the crown prince were supposed to live happily ever after, bringing justice to Panem when he ascended to the throne.  And Madge was supposed to be his queen, fair and just and beloved by the kingdom.

 

But the crown prince was dead and instead she was marrying Gale Hawthorne, the son of a disgraced rebel with no land to his name.  He didn’t want to marry her either, but that thought was a poor consolation.  Madge would never forget the day he and Katniss Everdeen had returned to court to beg King Snow’s forgiveness—although rumor had it that it was Lady Everdeen who had decided to return in an attempt to save her ill younger sister.  Lord Hawthorne— _her future husband_ , she reminded herself—had only accompanied Lady Everdeen for protection.  But the king only agreed to assist Lady Everdeen if Lord Hawthorne submitted as well.  Lord Hawthorne had nodded stiffly, his eyes never leaving Lady Everdeen, who looked destroyed with anguish.  This act had led to quite a bit of tittering by the ladies at court who found his willingness to give up his happiness to save his beloved’s sister to be  _quite romantic_.  Madge thought it was foolish and shortsighted—Madge knew the depths of Snow’s cruelty.  Whatever Snow had planned for Hawthorne and Everdeen, it was going to be merciless.

This marriage was punishment for both of them, Madge knew.  Punishment for her role in encouraging the crown prince to challenge his father and punishment for Hawthorne’s crime of being the son of a rebel.  When the Hawthorne and Everdeen plot had been revealed almost a decade earlier, the fathers had been summarily executed and the families exiled, their lands divided between other noble families.  No one had heard from them since, and most assumed them dead until Everdeen’s eldest daughter and Hawthorne’s eldest son had strode into the throne room one fall day.  Apparently, they had been living off the land, hunting in the forests surrounding Panem for nearly ten years.  This too, had been deemed _romantic_  by the ladies of court, but Madge privately shuddered to think of being touched by hands that had seen such violence.  He was a hunter in every sense of the word—she had seen that in the way he walked almost soundlessly, in the way he stood perfectly still as Snow delivered his verdict, only a twitching muscle in his jaw revealing his feelings.  He was a hunter, and Madge was nothing more than prey.

Madge didn’t think Lord Hawthorne had even seen her that day in the throne room.  His gaze had been trained on Lady Everdeen and only Lady Everdeen, and Madge was standing near the back in an unobtrusive dark blue dress.  It was as close as she could get to wearing mourning for the crown prince and her father without drawing Snow’s wrath.  Officially, the crown prince had sickened and died unexpectedly, but Madge—and most everyone else at court—knew that he had been poisoned.  The crown prince, Madge’s father, and half a dozen other courtiers who had been allied with the prince, all of them had gone to dine with Snow one evening, and all were dead in a week from the same mysterious “illness.”  Wearing full mourning, like Madge wished, would have been tantamount to daring Snow to punish her further.  She almost did anyway, but then there would be no one to protect the servants of her household, and Madge had no desire for their blood to be on her hands as well.

Delly finished fussing with Madge’s hair and circled around her.  She arranged the thin veil over Madge’s face and took Madge’s hands in her own, holding them lightly as she spoke.  “I know this isn’t what you wanted.  But anyone who would sacrifice his own freedom and happiness for someone else’s family must be a good man.”  A tear ran down Madge’s cheek.  She didn’t want a  _good_  man, she wanted the prince—she wanted a  _great_  man, someone who could change things for the better.  But instead she was marrying a sullen hunter who likely hated her more than she already hated him.

It was time.  There would be no delaying the wedding.  If Madge refused, Snow would simply have her dragged to the altar and she would not give him that satisfaction.  So she choked back her remaining tears, squared her shoulders, and began the long, lonely walk down the center of the throne room.  Her betrothed stood next to Snow, handsomely outfitted in far finer material than the rough homespun and leather he’d worn the day of his dramatic entrance.  But as she observed him she realized his eyes were not on her, but fixed on Lady Everdeen who stood to the side, her own countenance a mask of grief; her new husband Lord Mellark standing uncomfortably beside her.  Madge’s heart broke all over again.  For Lady Everdeen, who had agreed to whatever terms Snow decreed in order to get a healer to see to her sister.  For Peeta, one of Madge’s only friends, whose only crime had been offering Lady Everdeen a handkerchief as she left the throne room that day.  Snow had seen that small act of kindness and declared that if Peeta cared for Lady Everdeen so much, he could care for her for the rest of their lives.  Their wedding had been yesterday, a grim, silent affair.  Madge even felt her heart break a little for Lord Hawthorne—he had not asked for this marriage any more than she had.

The wedding was short and unemotional.  She spoke the required words as did he, and then he lifted her veil for a brief dry peck on her lips. The kiss sent another stab through her heart, remembering the crown prince’s sweet, soft kisses, stolen in darkened corners of the palace.  No, this was not the life she wanted, nor the husband. 

The feast was brief and joyless as well.  Madge sat silently to Lord Hawthorne’s left as he drained goblet after goblet of mead.  He never so much as looked at her.  Finally, Madge couldn’t take it any longer.  Not his sullen demeanor, not the pitying looks the rest of the court was throwing them.  There was no point in pretending that what came next wasn’t looming over them, so she took her own cup of wine and drank it down as quickly as she could and then turned to her husband.  “We should retire,” she said simply.  He shrugged and took one last gulp of mead, and then stood and took her hand.  He strode from the hall, ignoring the halfhearted catcalls of the other wedding guests, and walking quickly towards the chambers they had been given for the night.  Tomorrow they would return to Madge’s family estate, but the consummation would occur under Snow’s roof.  Just another in a long line of humiliations Snow had created for them.

 

Madge went into the inner chamber while Lord Hawthorne remained in the outer chamber.  Her ladies helped her undress and Delly gave her shaking hands a sympathetic squeeze.  “It can’t be as bad as that,” she whispered,  “and if he hurts you, I’ll slit his throat while he sleeps.”  Madge shot her a watery smile, but they both knew that this evening was simply something that must be endured.  Her ladies helped her into the large curtained bed and filed out as Lord Hawthorne stalked in.  His jerkin was removed, but he was otherwise still fully clothed.  He even still had his boots on.  Without a word he walked over to the bed, grabbed a pillow and threw it on the floor in front of the fire.  He laid down on the rug, his back to her.  In her shock Madge forgot her nerves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

“Going to sleep.”  They were his first direct words to her as man and wife, and he didn’t even glance over his shoulder.

“On the floor?”

Now he turned, sitting up and glaring at her.  “Would you rather have me in your bed,  _princess?_ ”  His voice was dripping with venom.

At the word princess, hurled at her with such vitriol, Madge physically recoiled.  How could he know?  It hadn’t been much of a secret, true, but it wasn’t common knowledge either, and he was new to court.  His anger triggered something deep inside her.  The fool was going to get them both killed.  “No, Lord Hawthorne, I certainly do  _not_  want you in my bed.  But the king has commanded that we marry, and that means consummation.  I am not looking forward to this any more than you, but if someone finds you sleeping fully clothed on the floor we could  _both_  be executed for treason.”

He stood and walked to the side of the bed, thrusting his face close to hers.  “The king can command me to marry you, but he  _cannot_  command me to force myself on you.  I’ll not be in the bed of a woman who doesn’t want me there,” he snarled.

Oh yes, her new husband was  _definitely_  going to get them killed.  “We don’t have a  _choice_ , don’t you see that?  I may not want you, but I don’t want to die.  So what we want doesn’t matter.  It’s our duty.” 

“Our duty?” he scoffed, “I will not be  _doing my duty_  if your only reason is fear.  When I said you don’t want me here, I meant that your heart isn’t aching for me and your body isn’t trembling with need.  And neither is mine.  So unless you have a hidden well of desire for me,  _princess_ , I will be on the floor.”

She tilted her head towards the elaborate sconces on the wall that concealed peepholes and lowered her voice to a tiny whisper.  “He’s always watching, don’t you see that?  If he finds out, we’re  _dead_.”

Fury darkened his face even more as he stepped back and flung the curtains closed on her side of the bed.  He stormed around the bed, kicking his boots off and climbing in before closing the curtains on his side as well.  They were completely cocooned in darkness and Madge could just make out the outline of his form as he settled back onto the pillows.

“Wait,” she hissed.  “The sheets.”

“What  _about_  the sheets?”  His voice was disdainful, but he was whispering, indicating that at least he understood the severity of their situation.

“He’ll have the sheets checked tomorrow.  If—if I don’t bleed, he’ll  _know_.”

At that, Lord Hawthorne opened the curtains near him just a crack and leaned off the side of the bed.  He straightened with something flashing in his hand.  A  _knife_.  Madge scrambled backwards, terrified, but in the dim light from the fireplace she saw him roll his eyes.  “Relax, princess.  I just told you I wasn’t going to rape you, and yet you think I’m going to stab you with a knife?”  He held the knife out to the side with a flourish, and with exaggerated movements he brought it over his thumb, pricking it and squeezing out a bubble of blood that he wiped on the sheet between them.  “There,” he hissed.  “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t, and Snow should be satisfied.”  He dropped the knife back off the side of the bed (had he hidden it in his  _boot?_ During their  _wedding?_  How barbaric) and rolled over, pulling the blanket up.  “You shouldn’t bleed, you know.”

Madge was confused.  “What?”

“The woman.  She shouldn’t bleed on her first time.  Not if the man knows what he’s doing.”  He didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.  And awhile later, he started snoring.  He was asleep, but Madge certainly wasn’t.

 

The next morning, they were both woken by servants pulling the curtains back, sending light streaming in.  They were on opposite sides of the bed, as far apart as two people could be and still be in the same bed, but Madge supposed that if he kept his word and swore they’d consummated the marriage, Snow should let them leave.  Snow was giving them two servants as a “wedding gift.”  Spies, most likely.  A pair of redheaded women, Madge had first assumed they were sisters but she was wrong.  One was an avox, her tongue torn out for angering the king, and the other had a sly look about her.  Both were certainly spies, but the avox was at least a reluctant one, she surmised.  Madge wasn’t worried, however—her days of hoping for change were long over.  There would be nothing for them to report to Snow except for a desperately unhappy marriage.

She longed to return home—she hadn’t been home since her father’s death and the news of the crown prince’s death reached her the next day.  Madge had set off for court as soon as she heard, blind with grief, but once she arrived Snow had refused to let her leave.  But now that she was safely married to a disgraced pauper, she supposed, Snow had no more use for her.  Madge stood in the courtyard, observing the bustle of activity around her.  Delly was directing the rest of the servants as they loaded the wagon, and her husband was already mounted on a horse.  He had left her chambers without a word that morning, and while he glanced her way as she left the palace he gave no indication he’d even seen her.  Snow was standing on a balcony above them, watching with a vicious grin.  His presence made her nervous, and as she grasped her horse’s saddle she found herself shaking.  She tried three times to pull herself into the saddle, and each time her arms gave out halfway.  Suddenly, Lord Hawthorne was beside her, kneeling.  He knitted his fingers together and held them out, wordlessly gesturing for her to use them for a boost.  Gingerly, she rested her foot on his hands and reached up as he lifted her.  This time, his added momentum propelled her up and she swung her leg around the horn, settling easily into the sideways stance of a practiced lady.  Madge looked down to thank him, but he had already returned to his horse.

The manor was only a half a day’s ride from the palace, but it seemed worlds  away.  It was large and comfortable, with airy rooms and large windows.  The grounds were almost endless, full of gardens and forests.  Madge was proud of her home, despite the spears of pain it shot through her to be reminded of her father.  She dismounted, thankful that Delly could handle directing the servants to unpack, and headed for the library.  Her husband had disappeared to the stables as soon as they arrived; he hadn’t brought any servants with him, so he must be seeing to his own horse.   _How primitive_ , she thought, although another, quieter voice in her head noted that he probably hadn’t had servants since his father was executed and the family exiled, so he was most likely just used to doing things on his own.

She spent the rest of the day in the library, trying to forget that she was married to a brute who hated her, and only went down to the main hall for dinner.  Lord Hawthorne was already seated and eating, having apparently decided it wasn’t worth waiting for her to join him.  Peeved at his rudeness, she sat as far from him as possible and delicately sipped at her soup.  He never spoke to her, so she never spoke to him.  And so began their routine—he would leave early in the morning on his horse, and she would spend the day either reading in the library or handling the household accounts.  He returned for dinner and they would eat together, silently.  Occasionally she tried to make conversation by commenting on the weather or the cut of meat, but his only responses were grunts or eye rolls, so she soon gave up.  One evening a week he would come to her chambers, grab a pillow and lay down on the floor, not leaving until dawn the next day; but not speaking to her either. 

They continued in this manner for nearly a month, until one evening when Madge snapped.  She’d had it with his curt responses, his grunts in her general direction, and his overall inability to treat her like his _wife_.  “Snow is going to expect children from us eventually, you know.”  Lord Hawthorne looked up from the plate of venison he was busy devouring and raised an eyebrow.  “I’m serious.  He’s going to expect children, so how do you propose we provide those?  I doubt I can produce one on my own,” she continued, hoping to goad him into a response.

He shrugged.  “Have one with the stable boy, for all I care,” he grumbled around a mouthful of half-chewed food.

Furious, she threw down her knife and stormed around the table, shoving her face close to his.  “Lord Hawthorne, I mean it.  Like it or not, we’re  _married_  and if we want to stay alive—which, by the way, I very much do—there are going to be expectations.  Snow has spies everywhere, and if word gets out that our marriage is unconsummated, he’ll kill us the way he killed our fathers.  I don’t like this marriage any more than you do, but we’re stuck, and if you continue in this manner we’ll be dead.”

He pushed his chair back and stood, towering over her.  “Like I told you before, Snow can take away my choice in who to marry—and I assure you, I would  _not_  have chosen you—but he can  _not_  force me into an unwilling woman’s bed.  So I suggest you find someone else to suit your  _needs_ ,  princess, because I guarantee I will never touch you like that.”

There it was again.   _Princess_ , like it was an accusation.  Like a taunt, like he knew it was what she wanted more than anything else in the world and couldn’t have because of him.  Unbidden, tears welled behind her eyes.  “Don’t call me that,” she whispered fiercely, her voice shaking with tears and anger.

“Don’t call you what?  Princess?”  He gestured his hand around the well-appointed room.  “It certainly fits.  You have no idea what it’s like to watch your family starve, to know that if you can’t find food soon you’ll all be dead.  You don’t know what it’s like to give up your family and your freedom,  _everything_ , so the people you love will be safe.  But I do, so if I want to call you  _princess_  I damn well will.”  He glared at her, his eyes blazing.  “I don’t know why Snow didn’t marry you to his son when he had the chance.  A spoiled little brat like you would have fit in perfectly.”

Madge reeled back, his words like a physical blow.  She turned and ran, unwilling to let him see her cry.  She shoved Delly aside as she sprinted through the door and up the stairs. She barely made it back to her room before the sobs wrenched out of her.   _What a hateful man_ , she thought bitterly.  He was nothing like her prince, who never had anything but tender words for her.  Madge lay on her bed, sobbing over what her life had become, when she heard a soft knock.  Assuming it was Delly, she pushed herself upright.  “Come in,” she called in a wavering voice.

But it wasn’t Delly.  It was  _him_.  “My lady, I’m sorry, I had no—“ but whatever he’d come to say he didn’t get to finish, because Madge snatched an unlit lamp from the table near her bed and threw it at him.  “Get out!” she screamed as it exploded against the door.  He’d closed it just in time, and that tiny voice in her head reminded her that he’d come to apologize, so maybe she shouldn’t have thrown it at him, but it was too late.  Her door was closed and his footsteps were retreating down the hall.  That night she cried herself to sleep.

She didn’t see him at all the following day, nor the next.  On the third day she came down to the hall to break her fast and found a tiny bouquet of forget-me-nots next to her place, their tiny blue flowers a bright spot of color against the dark wood.  Delly entered with a tray of food and Madge turned to her.  “They’re lovely, Delly.  Thank you.”

Delly looked at her strangely.  “They aren’t from me,” she said slowly, “Lord Hawthorne left them there this morning.”

Madge was startled. Had he intended them for her?  Or had he simply picked them and left them behind, forgotten?  But why pick flowers at all?  He hardly seemed like the sort of man who would idly pick flowers.  The memory of his interrupted apology rose to her mind and she felt suddenly ashamed.  She resolved to find him that morning and apologize for her outburst—or at least let him finish his apology.

Her breakfast finished, she went to the stables to find Gale but his horse was still there.  Thom nodded in the direction of the forest.  “He went that way, m’lady.  Rooba’s daughter is looking for him too.”  Rooba’s daughter?  She could hardly be more than six, too young for much more than whatever small kitchen chores Rooba assigned her.  Perhaps Rooba wanted to know what he would like for dinner; that would be an appropriate chore for the daughter of the cook to perform.  Madge headed into the woods, enjoying the warmth of the summer morning before the heat became oppressive.  In the distance she heard voices talking softly.  One young and high pitched, one older and deeper.  She followed them and found them in a clearing.  Lord Hawthorne was kneeling behind Rooba’s daughter, helping her hold a bow and arrow that anyone could see were too large for her.  They were aiming at a tree across the clearing, Lord Hawthorne talking her through the steps.  Madge was level with them and could see his face clearly.  He was direct and encouraging, explaining how to judge a target and compensate for the wind.  When they finally released the arrow it bit into the tree’s bark—not quite dead center, but close.  Rooba’s daughter crowed in triumph and Lord Hawthorne smiled. 

Madge staggered back a step.  She’d never seen him smile before.  It transformed his whole face.  His brow smoothed and his eyes lit up, crinkling at the corners, his teeth flashing even and white in the soft morning light.  He was handsome with his usual scowl, but when he smiled he was  _devastating_.  She shrank back into the forest; he hadn’t seen her and she suddenly didn’t want to intrude.  She turned and as quietly as she could she ran back to the manor where she found Peeta waiting for her in the parlor.

She threw herself into Peeta’s arms, relieved to see her oldest friend.  “Peeta!  It’s so lovely to see you!”  Peeta wrapped her in a tight embrace and then released her, sitting down.

“It’s good to see you too, Madge.  How are…how are things?” 

He meant her marriage, of course.  Sweet Peeta, always thinking of others before himself.  She shrugged.  “It’s as can be expected.” She wasn’t in the mood to discuss Lord Hawthorne right now, not when her feelings about him were suddenly so mixed up.  “How are you?”

Peeta returned her shrug.  “Katniss—I mean, Lady Everdeen, or, I guess, Lady Mellark now,” he stammered,  “is…she’s unhappy.  But she’s kind.  And she has the most beautiful voice.”  His eyes glazed over a bit as he mentioned her voice, and Madge suspected that Peeta already felt more than he was letting on for his new wife.  He shook himself out of his daze.  “She’s actually why I’m here.  She’s not allowed to leave my property, but Snow never said anything about me not delivering things for her.  So I have a letter for your husband.”  A grimace of pain flashed across his face at that, and Madge’s suspicions were confirmed.  Peeta was falling for Lady Everdeen, but she in turn was in love with Lord Hawthorne.  Madge had known that, of course, but getting confirmation sent a queer tinge of pain through her heart.  Somewhat incongruously she thought of the flowers from that morning and his smile, and Madge wondered if he’d freely given the mysterious Katniss flowers and smiles like the one she’d glimpsed earlier.  She felt something akin to jealousy, almost, but Madge brushed the thought aside and held out her hand.

“I can deliver it to him.  I understand.”

Peeta heaved a sigh of relief and suggested they talk a turn around her gardens.  Starved for companionship for the last few months, Madge agreed, and they spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon walking through the gardens, chatting about inconsequential things and playing chess at a low table in a back corner of the garden.  They carefully avoided any mention of either of their spouses, however, until a rustling behind the hedges made them both look up.  Lord Hawthorne emerged into view, his bow slung across his shoulder and quiver hanging off his back.  At the sight of Peeta Lord Hawthorne’s face darkened.  Peeta stood to offer his hand hello, but Lord Hawthorne strode past without acknowledging him at all.  Peeta looked at Madge, concern furrowing his brow.  “Is he always like that?”

Madge shrugged again, focusing with all her might on the chessboard.  Somehow, she didn’t want his pity.  Peeta let the matter drop and returned to their game.  He left before dinner, despite Madge’s entreaties, and she ate a lonely meal in the hall.  Apparently, Lord Hawthorne had requested dinner be brought to his room that evening.  Her meal completed, Madge steeled herself and headed towards his chambers.  She couldn’t bring herself to give him her father’s room as she should have, so she’d had the servants put him in an empty bedroom down the hall from hers.  They had plenty of empty rooms in the house, since Madge’s mother had died in childbirth and the house full of children her father had wanted never materialized.  She knocked and waited for his invitation to enter.

A fire was burning  low in the hearth and the windows were wide open, letting in the cool night air.  He was seated in front of the fire, busily working a long, thin piece of wood.  He looked up in surprise when she cleared her throat—he’d obviously thought she was a servant coming to remove his tray.  “Lord Hawthorne,” she said stiffly and formally, “I have a letter for you from Lady Everd—Lady Mellark,” she corrected.  Madge set the letter on a small table near him and turned to go.

“Gale.”

Madge stopped, her hand on the door knob.  “Pardon?”

“My name is Gale, my lady.  You know that, and if we’re married it seems foolish to stand on ceremony.  So just call me Gale.”

“If I’m going to call you Gale, then you should call me Madge,” she responded.  He nodded and she exhaled a shaky breath.  “Thank…” her voice cracked, and she started again.  “Thank you for the flowers this morning.  They’re lovely.”  She’d had Delly put them in a small vase in her library, right near the chaise she used most often.

Gale nodded again and returned to his work.  “Is that a bow and arrow?” she blurted.  He raised his eyebrows.  “For Rooba’s daughter, I mean.  I saw you, this morning, I went to find you to say thank you, but then I didn’t want to interrupt and…” she was babbling, she knew, but she couldn’t stop.  “I know why you’d make her one, since yours is clearly too big, but why are you even bothering to teach her?  What does a cook’s daughter need with a bow and arrow?”

“She might not need it now, but she might someday.”

“What, so she can hunt?” Madge scoffed.

Gale looked at her then, his eyes hard.  “Yes, so she can hunt.  So she can hunt and protect her family if she needs to.”

“Protect her family? That will hardly be necessary,” Madge dismissed those worries with a wave of her hand.  “I’ll make sure that they’re always taken care of.”

“You might, but you might not always be around to protect them,” he responded.  “There’s no guarantee, so if she wants to learn, I’ll teach her.”  He finished the last sentence fiercely, as if daring her to object. Madge realized that had been his childhood—growing up too soon, providing for his family after his father’s execution.  Madge sighed.  She didn’t want to argue—she’d come to deliver the letter and say her thanks, both of which she’d done.  So she turned to go once more.

“Stay.”

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows.  Gale let out a deep breath through his teeth.  “We’re stuck with each other, as you’ve so often pointed out, so we might as well get to know one other.”

Madge walked slowly to the chair nearest him and sat down, ringing for a servant to bring her the book she was reading.  Gale worked silently.  Apparently, getting to know each other was going to be her responsibility.  She tried again.  “Where did you find those flowers?  We don’t have forget-me-nots in the gardens.”

“I saw them in the forest the other day and they made me think of—well, I thought you might like them.  And I’d hoped to apologize for the other night, but you weren’t speaking to me and I thought the flowers might help.”  He kept his eyes on his work, his voice impassive.

The other night.  Madge didn’t want to talk about that, but she saw no sense in avoiding it either.  “I’m sorry as well.  I shouldn’t have shouted at you, or thrown that lamp.”

To her surprise, he grinned.  “You’ve got pretty good aim, though.  For a lady, I mean.”

Was he  _teasing_  her?  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might be.  Madge glanced at the letter from his beloved on the table, more unsure of her footing than ever.  “Still, it wasn’t becoming of me.  I apologize.”

His face grew serious again.  “I’m sorry too, my la—Madge.  Delly told me later about—about the prince.  I didn’t know, and I never would have called you that if I had.  Truly, I’m sorry.  For what I said, and for—for him.”

He seemed genuine and Madge felt her heart thaw slightly.  She didn’t trust her voice, so she sent him a tiny smile that he returned.  Gale held up the bow.  “I could use a hand with this, actually.  Would you mind?”

Curious, Madge knelt next to him, acutely aware of the fact that this was the closest she’d been to him since their fight.  He handed her one side and scooted over a bit, grabbing a piece of string and threading it through a tiny hole at the top.  “Push it so it bends, just a bit,” he instructed, and she had just started complying when the door popped open, startling her.  The bow slipped from her hands and the pressure of bowing it caused it to fly across the room and hit the wall with a clatter.

“Oh, sorry!  I’ll just leave this here.”  It was the redheaded servant with Madge’s book, which she dropped onto the small table near the letter and scurried away.

Once again, Madge puzzled over his lack of interest in the letter.  If he’d loved Katniss enough to agree to Snow’s conditions—and he had, since he was married to Madge now and not dead or in exile—wouldn’t he want to know what she had to say?  Why was he sitting on the floor, making a bow for a servant’s daughter, when the first words he had from her in over a month were sitting within an arm’s reach? A thought occurred to her.  “Gale, about this letter.  Would you like me to read it to you?”

He made a face.  “Why?  Do you think I can’t read?”

He’d caught her.  She stammered a bit, searching for a plausible excuse, but he cut her off.  “Madge, of _course_  I can read.  I’m not an animal, even if I lived in the forest for a few years.”  She tensed, waiting for the tirade that she knew was coming, but it never arrived.  “I’m not reading the letter because I already know what it will say.  I can read it later.  Right now, I have a six year old who needs a bow she can draw on her own.”  He handed her the bow again and this time they managed to get the string pulled tight and secure.

Madge spent the rest of the night steadfastly ignoring the tiny sparks she felt whenever his fingers brushed hers.


	2. Chapter 2

After that evening in his chambers, things between them warmed considerably.  They still spent their days apart—Gale outdoors and Madge in the library—but they ate dinner together, valiantly attempting conversation.  Most mornings, Madge would find small bunches of flowers near her place at breakfast.  Sometimes they were forget-me-nots, other times they were daisies or wild flowers.  They had little in common, however, and anything that hinted at the life of privilege Madge had led seemed to make him angry.  He didn’t lash out at her though, which she counted as an improvement.  So instead they talked about minor, inconsequential things like dinner or what books Madge was reading.  They never mentioned Snow, or Katniss, or his father’s rebellion, or her father, or the crown prince.  The air was thick with unspoken matters. But their conversations were friendly, and Madge was glad of the company.

 

One day while she was in the library, pouring over the household accounts, Peeta burst through the door.  She wasn’t expecting him and he struggled to catch his breath.  “Madge, it’s Crane.  He’s coming.  He’s here, I mean.  Or there.  With me.  Crane is staying with me.”

 _Snow’s lapdog?  What is he doing so far from the palace?_   “Peeta, why?  Is everything all right?”

“I think so,” he responded, his breath finally slowing.  “But I think Snow wants to check up on us, make sure we’re behaving.  Crane is going to spend a week with us and then he intends to spend a week here.”

A familiar shock of fear went to her gut.  She’d managed to forget Snow, or at least put him from her mind as best she could.  That would be impossible now, and if Snow discovered that she and Gale were lying to him—their marriage unconsummated after several months—the consequences would be disastrous.

Peeta needed to return home, so Madge set off into the woods to give Gale the news.  She found him alone under a tree, rubbing his shoulder and grimacing.  “What happened?” she called as she approached.

Gale smiled ruefully.  “I fell.  I was in the tree looking for eggs and I lost my footing.  I shouldn’t have tried, that was always Catnip’s—“ he stopped himself.  “That was always someone else’s job back home and now I remember why.”

 _Catnip.  Is that his nickname for Katniss?  It must be_.  The knowledge sent a now familiar twinge of almost-jealousy through her, a twinge she felt whenever Peeta delivered yet another letter from his wife to her husband.  Gale and Katniss wrote each other frequently, despite the impossibility of their situation.  She pushed the feeling aside, as she always did, and crouched next to him.  “Let me see.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he peeled his shirt back from his neck, exposing the top of his shoulder.  The skin was smooth and unbroken, a deep tan that made her own skin seem even lighter.  “No cuts up here, “ she declared, “but give me your hand.”  At his raised eyebrows she rolled her eyes.  “We need to test the movement.  Give me your hand.”  He laid his hand in hers and she tried not to shiver as his calluses grazed her palm.  She rested her hand on his shoulder and gently raised his arm, carefully watching his reaction.  He winced again, but there was no accompanying jerk of the muscles.  “Just bruised,” she announced, hastily dropping his hand and moving a step back. 

He smiled up at her.  “Thanks.  Is there something you needed?”

 She’d forgotten it when she saw him on the ground, but now the reason for her errand came rushing back.  “Peeta was here.  I have a letter for you back at the house, and some news.  Crane is over at the Mellark’s and he’s coming here soon too.  Peeta thinks he’s going to be reporting back to Snow about…about things.  Us.  We need to be careful.”

He nodded his head slowly.  “I’ll be careful, I promise.  We should head back now though.  It’s getting late.”

Madge offered him a hand and helped him up, once again trying to ignore the way his touch made her hand tingle.  They walked back to the manor together, chatting amiably.

 

Three days later Madge paced in her library.  Crane’s imminent arrival had her twitchy and staying inside as she normally did just didn’t seem appealing.  So she grabbed a light shawl and headed out into the forest, hoping she’d find Gale near where he’d been last time.

She was in luck and stumbled upon him not too far from the tree he’d fallen from, sighting down an arrow.  He turned as she drew close, relaxing his stance.  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I hope I didn’t scare something away.”

He shook his head.  “I was just doing some target practice.  Want to try?”  He held the bow out, a ghost of a smile on his lips.  She still hadn’t seen him smile the way he had at Rooba’s daughter again, a fact she privately lamented, so Madge stepped forward and accepted the bow.  She stood awkwardly, unsure of where to begin.  “Here, like this.”  Gale took the bow back, holding it out and drawing it back.  He handed it to her again and she tried to replicate his stance.  He chuckled. “Almost.”  Gale took a step closer and lifted a hand.  “Is it..is it all right if I touch you?”  She nodded, unable to look at him.  He took another step toward her and gently raised her elbow.  “Here.  More like this.  And relax your grip up here.”  He reached out to her hand holding the bow and wrapped his fingers around hers, his body now entirely encasing her.  His breath was tickling the back of her neck and her heart was pounding so loudly she thought he might be able to hear it.  Gale pulled an arrow out of the quiver strapped to his back and helped her align it properly in the bow.  “All right, now pull back with your right hand,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine, “and let go…now.”  On his command she loosed the arrow, watching anxiously until it hit the tree in front of her.  It was off center—she had almost missed, actually—but she hadn’t expected to hit anything her first try.  She turned, a wide grin spreading across her face, and there it was.  That smile, directed at her.  Only inches from her, actually, as he hadn’t stepped back when she released the arrow.  She froze, suddenly all too aware of their closeness, of the heat coming off his body, of the way the places he’d touched her burned as if his hands were still there.

Gale seemed to realize something as well and took a large stride backwards.  “That—that was great, Madge,” he said, clearing his throat again. “I, uh, I think you’ve got the basics.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her. 

She forced herself back to the present, away from thoughts of how solid his chest felt against her back.  “Thank you.  I think I should go back to the manor, though.  There’s a lot to do before Crane arrives.”  That was a lie.  She had most everything prepared, but she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be near Gale anymore and she needed an escape.  Madge tried to bring to mind the crown prince, but his image kept fading.  She should have felt guilty, but she couldn’t.  She turned on her heel and hurried back to the house and for the rest of the week she carefully avoided touching Gale, even accidentally.

The following Monday, Crane arrived with an enormous entourage.  Madge had his things set up in a room as far from hers as he could get without it seeming rude.  Several other courtiers came with him, and the easy quiet of the manor was replaced by the hustle and bustle of four members of court and their attendant servants. 

Halfway through dinner, however, Madge knew Crane suspected something.  His oily, unctuous manner might have worked with others, but she knew he was poking and prodding both her and Gale, searching for a weak spot.  And he found one.

“His Grace King Snow is eagerly hoping for news about your future heirs,” he said, leaning casually back in his chair.  “Is there any message you would like me to pass on?”  Crane’s grin was sly and he winked at the sharpfaced redhead refilling his wine. 

“No.  And it would still be very early days if there was to be news of that sort,” Madge responded tightly.

Crane clucked his tongue disapprovingly.  “Well now, that’s a shame.”  Gale tensed beside her as the rest of the courtiers laughed into their cups.  She rested her hand lightly on his, where he had his dinner knife clutched tightly in his grip.  Madge stroked his fist with her fingers, silently willing him to let go.  But just as Gale’s fingers relaxed, Crane spoke again.  “Are you sure you’re doing it right, Lord Hawthorne?”  The chuckles turned to guffaws then, and Gale redoubled his grip, his jaw clenched.

Madge pushed her chair back suddenly, knowing that if she didn’t do something there could be bloodshed.  So she decided to cause a scene.  “Lord Crane, I am  _shocked_  that you would behave in this manner!” she scolded.  “I would expect a representative of the king to treat the lady of the house with respect!”  She began storming out of the hall, hoping that Gale would follow her lead and chase after her. 

But before she got to the door, another courtier spoke up.  “If you’re unsatisfied, Lady Undersee, you know where to find my room!” 

Madge whirled around, speechless.  Gale pushed back from the table, his eyes burning.  She was worried he would punch Crane, or the courtier, or worse, but he simply stalked around the table and grabbed her wrist.  He yanked her roughly toward him and then he was kissing her.  It was fierce and needy,  _possessive;_  it was  _wonderful_.  His tongue brushed against hers as his arms tightened around her waist, pressing her against the length of his body.  Madge had just started to respond, had just lifted her fingers to trace the line of his jaw, when she heard the wolf-whistles behind them.  Gale released her, a rush of cold air swooping in as she stepped back.  He threw a hard look at Crane and his companions, intimidating them into silence, and took her by the arm again, pulling her out of the hall and up to her chambers.

Gale let go of her arm as he slammed the door, turning and resting his forehead against the thick slab of wood.  “Madge, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have, I don’t know what came over me,” he murmured, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

There were a hundred things running through her mind, a thousand things she wanted to say.  She was confused and angry, shocked and a little embarrassed.  But mostly, she wanted to know  _how_.   _How_ could he kiss her like that when they both knew he was in love with someone else?   _How_ could he do that to Katniss?   _How_  could he do that to  _her_?  And most of all  _how_ could he kiss her in such a way that made every kiss she’d ever had before pale in comparison?  Madge wanted to ask him all of these things, to demand answers, but instead she rolled up on her toes and kissed him just as fiercely as he had kissed her in the hall, pouring all her questions and anger into that kiss.  He responded in kind, pulling her close with a low growl and backing her across the room until she reached the bed and he laid her down, pressing her into the soft feather mattress with his weight.  She opened her legs slightly, letting him settle his hips in between them.  Her fingers dug into his back, keeping him pinned to her.  His lips left hers with a soft nip and he kissed toward her neck, scraping his teeth lightly down her throat.  Madge moaned and arched into his touch as his hands moved up her body.  He pushed her bodice down, baring her breasts and kneading them with callused fingers.  She didn’t want him to stop; she’d never felt like this before, never felt this coiling need in her belly, never wanted to tear off the crown prince’s shirt for the crime of standing between her and his skin.  And just as suddenly as she’d started, she froze, the crown prince’s face surfacing in the corner of her mind.  How could she be doing this?  She loved someone else.   _He_  loved someone else.  It was like waking from a dream, the full reality of her situation slamming into her.

Gale noticed her hesitation and leaned back, supporting his weight on one elbow and cupping her face with his other hand, skimming her cheekbone with his thumb.  “Madge?  What is it?  What’s wrong?”

The concern in his eyes was painful to see.  She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t  _touch_  him any more.  She pressed on his chest and he moved away, still watching her.  “Gale, I—I can’t,” she gasped.  “I can’t, I just can’t.”  He nodded solemnly and she slid off the bed, readjusting her bodice to cover herself once again.

“Do you want me to go?”  His voice was hoarse and she couldn’t read his tone.  Angry?  Reluctant?

“No, I don’t think you should.  Crane and his men are still here, and if they see you…” Madge was upset, both with herself and with Gale, for getting so carried away, but she still couldn’t bear the thought of him having to endure more abuse on her behalf.  “You should stay here,” she finished.  “Stay the night.  It will help—help with them, I mean.”

She sank onto the small stool at her vanity and observed her appearance.  Her lips were swollen and her hair was mussed, half falling out of the elaborate hair net that held it up off her neck.  Madge sighed; she couldn’t risk calling one of her ladies now, so she’d just have to handle unpinning her hair on her own.  She tucked her chin down and her fingers searched the nape of her neck for the tiny, fiddly clasp she knew was buried there.  She cursed as she found it, only for it to slip out of her fingers.  Gale spoke from directly behind her—she hadn’t heard him leave the bed and walk towards her.  “Do you need some help?” he asked.  Madge was still upset, still frustrated, but she also knew from experience that this was a job best done by someone else, so she nodded.  She kept her eyes on the small bureau in front of her, avoiding the mirror at all costs.

Gale deftly unclasped the net and let her hair fall around her shoulders, but he didn’t stop there.  He removed the pins that her ladies had used to secure the style, plucking them from the coils of blonde hair and dropping them on the bureau.  He unpinned the braid next, loosening it from where it sat across the top of her head and gently untwisting the braided strands.  She melted into his touch in a way both different and the same as she had earlier, surprised that hands and fingers that had been so rough and demanding only moments earlier could be so gentle.  She risked a look then, opening her eyes just a fraction and looking at his reflection through her lashes.  His face betrayed no emotion as he focused on her hair, his fingers now untangling the few knots left, stroking her hair softly.  Madge cleared her throat and stood, startling him from his reverie.  “Thank you,” she said quietly.  “Could you also…” she tipped her chin over her shoulder, indicating the tight laces that held her dress together.  Again she wished that she could ask for someone else, but the threat of Crane finding out meant Gale was her only option.  He swallowed hard and untied the laces, loosening her dress just enough that she could slide it off.

Madge laid her dress gently on the stool and climbed back into the bed in her shift.  Part of her wanted to ask Gale to stay in the bed with her, but she knew that if he was that close to her again she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from touching him again.  Her earlier confusion remained, now accompanied by a deep, painful longing.  Whether for Gale or the crown prince, she couldn’t decide.  Gale took his usual spot by the fire and eventually they both fell asleep without speaking another word.  When she woke the next morning, he was gone.

 

Crane was leaving early.  It was a godsend, she knew, that whatever their performance in the hall had been, Crane had bought it.  He had also likely judged that staying much longer would ultimately bring his men to blows with Gale, and for whatever reason Crane didn’t want that to happen.  They stood together as Crane and his men took their leave, reluctantly playing the gracious hosts one last time.  Madge’s muscles ached and she could feel a headache building behind her eyes.  She was desperate for the king’s men to be gone.

After their departure Madge escaped to the library, intending to examine how much the visit had cost them.  Instead, however, she found herself laying on the chaise, unable to focus.  The headache had bloomed into a constant pounding and her chest felt uncomfortably tight.  She made a mental note to ask Delly if the kitchen had any remedies on hand for grippe and turned back to the account book in her hand, but the numbers kept blurring.  Exhausted, she had just decided to take a short nap when the door swung open and Gale strode in.  He stood above her with his arms crossed, not saying a word.

“What?”  Her tone was sharper than she intended.  She still didn’t know how she felt about the night before and she wasn’t feeling up to discussing it.

“Don’t you think we should talk?” he asked gruffly.

“No, I don’t,” she snapped, pretending to return to the accounts.

“You don’t?” His voice was sardonic.

“No.  I have no use for a man who will take a woman to bed even though he is in love with someone else.  So no, I have nothing to say to you.”  It wasn’t the full truth, she knew—it wasn’t just his feelings for Katniss that had her vexed—but she needed to lash out.

“What do you mean, ‘in love with someone else?’”  There was an edge to his voice she didn’t like.

“Don’t you dare deny it.”  Madge rolled her eyes.  “Peeta and I have been passing your love notes on for weeks now.  And I understood, I really did, but now?  How dare you do that to me; to  _her_?”

Gale’s face darkened with fury and he flexed his hands into fists.  He spun on his heel and stormed out.  Madge thought she’d won until he returned, a stack of letters in his hand.  He threw them at her.  “Here.  Here are my  _love notes_.  Read them.  I burned the first one, but all it said was that she’d never loved me, which I already knew.”  He stormed out again, slamming the door behind him.

Bewildered, Madge picked up the first letter and opened it.  The tone was apologetic and grateful all at once—Katniss was thanking him for understanding and apologizing for her thoughtlessness in getting him involved.  It was not a letter from one lover to another; there were no confessions of everlasting love, no plans to escape their marriages, nothing.

But the rest of the letters were far more puzzling.  They ostensibly reported the status of Mellark’s lands and holdings, but the numbers were off.  Peeta didn’t own that many sheep, she was sure of it, and he grew alfalfa, not corn.  And Katniss was asking about the number of goats that Madge owned, but she didn’t own  _any_.  Madge stared at the letters, spreading them out on the chaise around her and searching for a pattern, an explanation,  _something._   Her head was throbbing and her eyes felt hot and dry, but she kept reading, trying to put together what Gale wanted her to know.

Then it hit her.  The letters were in code.  Gale was a rebel.  And so, it appeared, was Katniss.

 _Rebellion_.  Madge’s stomach churned—she’d already lost her father and her prince to just the suspicion of a rebellion.  With them gone, she had put aside all notion of changing Panem and reconciled herself to a quiet life in the country, but once again she found herself in the middle.  She was  _married_  to a rebel.  If Gale was caught, Snow would kill them both for certain.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stay in the library anymore.  She dashed down the stairs and out to the stables, hurriedly ordering Thom to saddle a horse for her.  Then she was off again, riding as far from the manor as she could.  The code was too established, too  _familiar_ , for it to have been created after the weddings.  And Katniss and Gale hadn’t seen each other since they each left the palace.  Which meant that this was  _planned_. 

Her head pounded in time with the horse’s hooves and a light rain began to fall.  The slight chill she had felt earlier settled into her bones, but still she kept riding.  How much had been planned?  Had Gale and Katniss intended to be married off to members of the court?  Did they somehow manipulate the situation so Snow would choose her and Peeta?  Or was that part an accident, a stumbling block on their way to creating a rebellion?  Was Gale using her, and Katniss using Peeta?  Her brain was muddled, circling around the same thoughts over and over again.  Madge kept urging her horse forward, but it stopped abruptly, balking at jumping the small stream in front of them.  Madge lost her balance and tumbled to the muddy ground.

Free of Madge’s weight the horse bolted, leaving her alone in the forest.  She was exhausted and her thoughts seemed as though they were trapped in sap.  She moved sluggishly, pulling herself up the streambed and resting her back against a tree.  When had she gotten so chilled?  The air temperature didn’t seem too cold, but Madge was freezing.  In her haste to leave the manor she hadn’t grabbed so much as a shawl, so she curled in on herself, trying to stop the constant shivers that wracked her body.  She tried to stand, to start walking back home, but the ground swayed crazily under her feet and she sank back down.  Why was she even outside?  What had happened?  It had something to do with Gale, she knew that.  She was angry with him, wasn’t she?  What had he done?  Why had she left?  Why was she  _so cold?_   Madge fought against the darkness that was threatening to overtake her, tried to straighten out her thoughts, find a way to go back, but the heaviness was too much and she slipped slowly into unconsciousness, still wondering why she had been so upset.

Madge dreamed then, a peaceful, comforting dream.  Gale was there, calling her name and wrapping her in something warm and dry.  She was swaying gently, something solid under her cheek, a soft thumping noise echoing through her mind.  It was nice in that dream, being held by strong arms, having her forehead kissed over and over, hearing her name spoken in pleading, gentle tones.  She burrowed more deeply into her cocoon, wanting to stay there as long as possible.  The dream changed and she heard more voices, more worried tones.  She opened her eyes but there were too many faces, too many voices, so she closed them again and focused only on the quiet sound of Gale’s voice, whispering to her as someone gently stroked her hair.  She sank deeper into slumber then, the dream fading to black except for short flashes of Delly’s worried countenance hovering over her and the constant soft murmur of Gale’s voice.

When she next opened her eyes, it was in the weak light of morning.  Madge was confused—the last thing she remembered was being in the library in the early afternoon.  How was it morning now?  And why was she in bed?  She didn’t remember returning to her chambers at all.  She had a hollow, empty feeling inside her that she couldn’t place.  A soft snore sounded to her right.  Gale was in a chair beside her bed, his head tipped back and his mouth hanging open.  He was asleep, although the position looked uncomfortable.  Madge went to push herself into a sitting position, but her head started throbbing and the bedframe squeaked loudly, cutting Gale off mid-snore.  He straightened and launched out of the chair when he saw her looking back at him.  “Madge!  You’re awake!  How long have you been awake?  Here, let me call Delly, she’ll want to you know you’re up—how are you feeling?”  He was speaking unusually fast and reaching out to help her sit up, his eyes crinkled with concern.

“What’s going on?” she croaked, her voice hoarse with disuse.  “How long have I been asleep?”

Relief washed over Gale’s face.  “About a day and a half.  You gave us quite a scare, you know.”  He walked over to pull the bell for the servants.  “Do you remember what happened?”

Madge thought for a moment.  She had been in the library, working.  She remembered that.  And then Gale had come in, and they’d fought, and he’d given her…something.  She remembered running out to the stables, getting her horse and riding.  “I fell off my horse, I think,” she said, but that didn’t make sense.  Madge didn’t necessarily ride all the time, but she was a competent rider, and a fall from a horse shouldn’t have made her sleep for nearly two days, and it didn’t explain why her heart clenched painfully every time she looked at Gale.

“You were sick when you left the house.  We think you lost your balance and fell, and then you were too sick to make it back.  I found you by the stream between our property and Mellark’s.”  He didn’t look at her has he spoke, instead watching his finger trace the pattern on her blanket.

“Thank you for finding me,” she started, but Gale shook his head.

“It was my fault.  We fought, and I gave you those letters thinking it would fix things, but it only made things worse.”

The letters?  She thought back, remembering him throwing the letters from Katniss at her in the library and then suddenly she remembered everything, all at once.  The code.  The rebellion.  He was  _using_  her while he plotted to overthrow the king.  Her head snapped up, a painful throb shooting through her skull.  Gale scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  “I can explain.  I never meant—“ but the door opened and Delly stepped in, followed by the mute redhead.

“Madge!  Oh thank goodness you’re awake!  We’ve all been so worried!  What got into you, dashing about like that when you were ill?”  Delly began bustling around the room, opening the drapes to let in more light as the avox stirred up the fire.  Delly shot Gale a look and he excused himself, closing the door softly behind him.  Delly sent the avox out as well and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “Well?  Are you going to tell me why you nearly got yourself killed?  And believe me, if Gale hadn’t found you when he did you very well might be dead.”

Madge’s dream returned to her just as she realized it hadn’t been a dream, but a memory.  “We…we fought.  I was angry with him and needed to get away, but I wasn’t thinking clearly.  It was my fault, I’m sorry.”  Madge dropped her eyes to the blanket on her lap, ashamed of herself.  “Thank you for taking care of me, Delly,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me.  I wasn’t the one by your side day and night.  That was your husband.  I suggested he go to bed last night and get some rest and he nearly bit my head off.  So he stayed, mopping your brow as tenderly as any woman would.”  She cast Madge a skeptical look.  “If you fought, it’s safe to say he feels bad about it.”    Delly stood.  “I’ll have some soup sent up to you.  You’re not to leave this bed for at least another day.  Do you want me to send for Lord Hawthorne as well?”  Madge gave a tiny nod, sinking back into the pillows.  The confusion of the past few days returned to her—the kiss in the hall, the kisses in this very bed, the spectre of Katniss and the crown prince lurking over them, her suspicion that not only was Gale a rebel but that he was using her as a cover—it all came rushing back as Delly quietly shut the door.

The door creaked open and Gale looked in, his face unsure.  “Delly said you wanted to see me?”  Madge nodded and pushed herself up a bit more, trying to comport herself with dignity.  She knew she needed to start speaking, but she was at a loss for words so she simply watched him as he sat back in the chair near her bed.  “Madge, I meant what I said earlier.  I’m sorry,” he apologized.  “I thought you’d read those letters and see that Katniss and I are through, but I think they only made you more upset.”

“You’re a rebel.”  It was a statement, not a question, and his silence confirmed it.  “Was marrying me always in the plan, or was I just a mistake?  A miscalculation of Snow on your part?” she asked drily.

“No one else was supposed to be involved.  We came to get help for Prim, with the intention that Snow would punish  _us_  and no one else.  Katniss and I, we thought that we might be able to start pushing people to recognize that Snow is cruel, that things should change.  We never thought anyone else would get hurt, and I never intended to get you involved.  When we were married, I swore to protect you.  And I will.  If I’m ever captured, I will swear you knew nothing about this.  I’ll protect you until my last breath, I promise.”

“But the code.  It seemed…planned.”

“We invented it in case we were separated, but I swear on my life, Madge, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“And you and Katniss…?”

Gale hung his head, his voice defeated.  “I cared for her.  I can’t deny that.  I came with her to court because I wanted to change things, yes, but I also wanted to be there for her.  To protect her.  But I couldn’t.  I never told her how I felt but…she guessed.  And in that first letter she told me she couldn’t care for me the way I wanted, and with us both married to other people it just didn’t make sense for me to cling to something that was never there in the first place.  So I…I let her go.”

“You could have gotten rid of us, you know.  You’re only married as long as I’m alive.”

Gale looked at her and cracked a tiny smile.  “I’m not a very good person, I’ll admit, but I’m not  _that_ terrible.”

Madge felt the corners of her mouth quirk up a bit.  “Well, that’s a relief.”  She turned her hand over on top of the blanket, her fingers curling slightly.  Gale took the invitation and knotted his fingers into hers.  “I can’t say I’m happy about this, Gale.  I lost my father to a rebellion, and…and someone else as well.  I don’t want to lose you too.”  The more Madge thought about the crown prince, the more she felt him slipping away.  She had cared for him—loved him, even—but he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.  And Gale was here, and despite her anger, despite her fear that he might get caught, she wanted him.  She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted a man before.  She wanted him beside her now, she wanted him in her bed; she  _wanted_.  It was terrifying, feeling like this, so instead of speaking she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand.

Gale cleared his throat.  “Delly says you’re stuck here for the next day.  Do you want some company?”  He motioned toward a book he’d left next to the chair.  “I could read to you, if you want.”

Madge did want that.  She wanted more, actually, but her head was still throbbing and her muscles felt shaky.  So she contented herself with listening to him read as the avox brought up a tray of soup.  Her meal completed, she made a decision and scooted over in the bed.  She turned down the blankets and raised her eyes expectantly.  As she’d hoped, Gale understood.  He toed off his boots and slid under the covers, sitting with his back against the headboard.  Madge nestled under his arm, resting her cheek against his chest as he read, and she drifted off to sleep feeling the low rumble of his voice against her ear.


	3. Chapter 3

Madge’s pillow was  _moving_.  Up and down, up and down, a steady drumbeat pounding in her ear.  She opened her eyes and realized it wasn’t her pillow that was moving, but Gale.  She sat up slightly, waking him.  His eyes fluttered open and he smiled softly at her.  “Good morning,” he whispered.  “Are you feeling better?”

 

She nodded.  The light in the room was odd—it was morning, but it seemed more like twilight.  She crawled out of the huge four poster bed and shuffled toward the windows.  Outside, snow was falling gently, transforming the world from bleak and grey to a brilliant white.  Gale draped a blanket over her shoulders as he joined her.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It is,” he agreed, untucking her hair from the blanket.  “Would m’lady be feeling up for a walk?”

Madge was still exhausted, but a walk in the snow sounded appealing.  Especially if Gale was there.  She assented, and he left to have Delly come up and help her into warm clothes.   Thoroughly bundled up—and admonished not to go far, given her weakened condition—she met Gale in the back garden.  The air was bracing in her lungs and the cold helped ease the heat in her cheeks.  He offered her his arm and she took it as they began to walk, the snow still falling gently.  The world was hushed, peaceful.  She almost forgot her husband was a near stranger attempting to start a rebellion.  But as they slowly circled her gardens, her hand warmly tucked under his arm, she realized he was no longer a stranger—she understood him.  The anger she’d sensed in him at the start was still there, but it wasn’t directed at her.  His rage was directed at Snow, at the system.  With her he could be kind.  He wasn’t charming and effervescent the way the crown prince had been, but she felt steady with him; more like herself.  Madge tilted her head to study his profile and found him looking down at her.  His gaze was intense and she looked away shyly. 

A coughing fit made Gale insist that Madge return to the manor at once.  Inside, Delly had a letter for Madge—her aunt Effie was coming for the Christmas holidays and would be arriving in a few days time.

“Who’s Aunt Effie?” Gale asked.

“My mother’s half-sister.  She’s, er, unique.”  Madge secretly dreaded Gale meeting Effie, who was a dear sweet woman but rather flighty and eccentric.  And somehow, she didn’t think Gale would find Effie’s extravagant fashion sense to be charming.

Effie arrived with an entourage of servants and friends, filling the manor to the brim with people and laughter.  Madge inwardly cringed as she realized her quiet home would suddenly be the scene of parties for complete strangers and longed for peaceful dinners with Gale instead.  The only benefit to Effie’s presence was Madge and Gale had to share her chambers to ensure that all their guests had enough space.

They still hadn’t kissed, not since Crane’s disastrous visit.  Things were warm and comfortable between them, but neither had moved beyond simple affectionate touches.  Anything else was too fraught.

The first night Effie arrived, Gale had headed for his usual spot near the fire but Madge stopped him.  “If we’re going to be staying together for awhile, it seems silly for you to sleep on the floor.”

Gale watched her closely.  He hadn’t been in her bed since her illness.  He slid under the covers warily and kept his distance that night.  Madge didn’t quite want that, but she wasn’t sure how to tell him.  She also wasn’t sure he wanted her close, and she wasn’t ready to find that out either.

The next night, however, he was in bed before her.  She shivered as she crossed the room.  “Cold?” he asked. 

“A little.”

“Here.”  He held up the blankets and moved aside, motioning for her to join him.  She slipped in next to him and he cinched his arm around her waist.  Gale was deliciously warm and Madge fell asleep quickly.  From then on they spent the night in each other’s arms, either with Gale curled around her or Madge draped across his chest.  She liked that better, she decided—she liked hearing his heart beat.

Effie’s companions were not the sort of people Madge would willingly surround herself with—flighty and vain, they mostly talked about the latest fashions and court gossip.  Any recognition of the monster that was King Snow seemed beyond them.  One woman even  _congratulated_  Madge on marrying someone as handsome as Gale.  The fact that it hadn’t been her choice—no matter how she felt about him now—didn’t seem to matter to these creatures.  Madge felt awkward around them, and as a result she felt awkward around Gale.  The only time she felt like herself was when she retired to her chambers and wound herself around him as they slept.

Aunt Effie showed up to the Christmas dinner in an outfit so full of ruffles she was almost round.  Gale couldn’t contain his snort of laughter and Madge had to dig her nails into her palm when she told Effie she looked beautiful.  Whenever Effie spoke to them Madge had to be very careful not to catch Gale’s eye lest she burst into laughter, and later in the evening as Effie stood in front of them to talk to a friend Madge felt Gale tug at her sleeve.  She turned just in time to see him toss a tiny piece of meat at Effie.  It landed neatly in one of the ruffles of her skirt and Effie didn’t even glance their way. Madge tried to glare at him in disapproval, but the way his eyes glittered with mischief made it impossible.

Madge stifled a giggle as Gale tossed another piece, and then another, all of them settling into the innumerable ruffles of Effie’s dress.  By the fifth piece she couldn’t stay quiet anymore and quickly left the main hall, Gale on her heels. She collapsed into giggles and they ducked into a dark alcove, breathless with laughter.  Effie walked past soon after with half the manor’s dogs and cats on her heels, looking bewildered, which sent them into a fresh round of giggles.  Gale pressed his body against her to shield her from sight as they tried to catch their breath.

As the laughing eased, Madge became acutely aware of Gale’s closeness.  It wasn’t the sweet, comforting closeness of sharing a bed—it was something different, something more.  She tilted her head up and found him looking at her with hooded eyes.

Suddenly, Madge knew what she wanted and she didn’t want to wait any longer.  She ducked under his arm headed for the main stairs, throwing a look over her shoulder.  He followed.

Gale’s mouth was on hers as soon as she shut the door, his fingers sliding into her hair and plucking the pins from the elaborate updo her ladies had spent the better part of an hour creating.  It was undone within moments and her hair spilled down her shoulders.  Madge unlaced his jerkin without pulling her lips away.  His tongue traced her lower lip and she opened her mouth slightly, her knees almost buckling as his tongue met hers.  Gale reached behind her to undo the laces of her dress, but after several moments of fumbling he wrenched away from her and swore under his breath.

Madge giggled and turned around.  “That better?” she asked flirtatiously over her shoulder. 

He tugged the ties loose and stepped closer to her as her dress fell, his nose skimming the shell of her ear.   “Much,” he growled.  He curved an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, his chest broad and warm against her back. Gale pushed her hair aside and trailed kisses down the side of her neck.  She dropped her head back to give him better access before spinning to capture his lips in a kiss once again.  He walked her backwards until she bumped into the bed.

Feeling bold, she fisted the sides of her shift and pulled it over her head.  She was in nothing but her drawers and stockings, both of which she quickly shed as well.  Madge reached for Gale and unlaced his breeches as he tugged his doublet off.  With both of them bare Madge climbed onto the soft feather mattress and Gale settled just to her side. She was breathless with need as he slowly kissed down her neck, his hands coming to cup her breasts and tease her nipples.  Madge scrabbled for purchase on his skin, trying to pull him closer and closer.

Gale craned his head back slightly to look in her eyes.  “Are you sure?” he breathed, his eyes dark.  She nodded, keeping her eyes on his.  Madge had never been more sure of anything in her life.  She tilted her head up to kiss him again and one of his hands drifted lower, skimming across her belly and down to where she ached for him.  He parted her slowly, his callused fingers moving in gentle, teasing motions that made her back bow off the bed.  Just when she thought she might go mad with want, Gale slid one long finger inside of her.  She groaned at the sensation, his movements only making her want more.  Gale kissed her softly as he pushed another finger inside, stretching her walls and making her keen as his thumb drew tight circles on the bud just above her entrance.

Madge felt her body wind tighter and tighter as his movements became more and more deliberate.  Wave after wave of pleasure shot through her and she thrashed underneath him, both exhausted and desperate for more.  He grinned at her then, the pleased, happy grin of a man who had just made his wife very happy.  Gale moved on top of her and bracketed his arms around her head, supporting his weight.  Her legs parted to cradle him between her hips.  She could feel him at her entrance and once more he looked her in the eyes and asked if she was sure.  In response she grasped his backside and guided him inside.

Gale moved slowly, his arms trembling with the effort.  Inch by inch he pushed into her, letting her adjust to him.  He was bigger than his fingers, and while it was uncomfortable at first, he distracted her with kisses until she no longer noticed the pain, only the want.  Madge moved first, drawing him closer and gasping as he pulled out slightly, only to push back in again.  His sinuous movements spurred her on, and she dug her nails into his back to urge him on and keep him close.  She relished the feeling, and as his hips sped up and his breathing became more and more uneven, she clenched down around him to pull him to his peak.  She felt his release at her very core, and the rush of power that came with it was intoxicating.

Gale rolled to his side and cupped her cheek in his hands, kissing her softly.  “I love you,” he whispered. 

Madge kissed him back.  “I know.”  She grinned against his lips.  “I love you too.”

The rest of Effie’s visit was pure torture—or at least the days were.  The nights found them excitedly exploring each other’s bodies, eager to learn every single inch, every sound, every movement.  When Effie and her companions finally took their leave, Gale and Madge retired to her chambers for two straight days, not even leaving for meals.

It was perfect.  Madge loved her husband, no matter how they came to be married.  They had built something together; something good, something lasting.  She should have known better than to trust in the future.

 

Two weeks after Effie left, they were lazing in bed.  Gale kept trying to get up, but Madge kept convincing him to stay.  Gale had just rolled out of bed and pulled his breeches on and leaned over to kiss her one last time when they heard a scuffle in the hallway and the door burst open.  In poured five armed men, followed by no less than King Snow himself.

Gale whirled around as soon as the door opened, but the guards surrounded them before he could move.  Gale placed himself in front of her, shielding her from the intruders as Madge sat up and clutched the blankets to her bare chest.

Snow clapped drily.  “Wonderful performance, my dear.  Thank you.”  Madge was bewildered.  Gale stayed between her and the king’s men, his shoulders tense and fists clenched.  Snow motioned to his men—a slight hand wave, as if he was gesturing for the salt at the dinner table—and three lunged forward at Gale.

Gale tried to fight them, but it was three heavily armored men against one man in nothing but his breeches.  The scuffle was short but fierce.  In the end, Gale was held by his arms between two of the men, his mouth bleeding and his eye already swelling as the third struck him in the stomach with a mailed fist.  Madge screamed, begged for them to stop, but Snow and his men were deaf to her cries.

Madge was shaking by the time they finished and Gale hung between them, hardly conscious.  Once again, Snow addressed her.  “Thank you, my dear.  I knew you would be able to get him to trust you, although I hardly think this”—again, the halfhearted wave towards the disheveled bed—“was completely necessary. But those letters proved most helpful in identifying the rebels; the kingdom is indebted to your service.”

Gale turned his head—slow, painful movement.  It took Madge a moment to realize what Snow was implying, but once she did she started screaming again, this time  _to_  Gale, to try and convince him not to believe Snow.  But Snow’s men dragged him out before he responded.  Terrified, Madge stared up at Snow.  “Get dressed,” he ordered.  “My men will escort you to the carriage.”

Madge dressed herself shakily before the guards grabbed her roughly by the elbows and pulled her down the stairs.  At the bottom she saw a bruised and battered Delly standing helplessly behind a row of guards.  Rooba was there too, her daughter peeking out from behind her skirts.  A stab of pain went through Madge—if she and Gale were executed for treason, there would be no one to protect her servants, just like Gale predicted.

The guards threw her into a carriage.  Gale must have been in the dark wagon with no windows—she couldn’t see him anywhere, but Snow would want to make a spectacle out of them.  He would still be alive, at least for as long as it took to make it back to the castle.

The two redheaded servants entered the carriage as well—the avox looked sad, but the sly one wore a look of triumph.  It had been her, Madge realized, who turned over the letters.  She pondered what had taken so long for Snow to come down on them.  Weeks had passed since she saw those letters and ran heedlessly out of the manor.  She’d assumed Gale had retrieved them, but in the confusion of her illness they must have been left unattended.

Madge cursed herself for her mistake, and with every jolt of the carriage she knew she was drawing closer to her doom—hers, and Gale’s.  She wondered if Snow would kill them together, or if he’d make her watch.

He would probably make her watch.

 

Madge was beyond tears by the time they reached the castle courtyard.  They opened the windowless wagon first, and she saw Gale dumped unceremoniously on the ground.  She took her chance and threw open the carriage door.  Madge bolted across the courtyard but the guards caught her before she reached him.  She screeched his name and thought she saw his head turn, but then her vision went blurry at the edges as Snow backhanded her.  His ring caught her lip and she tasted blood.  Gale picked himself up and took two steps toward her, but the guards grabbed the chains that bound his fists and ankles and sank several punches into his stomach and side.

Madge screamed for him again, but no one took any notice.  Gale was dragged—still fighting—from the courtyard as her captors pulled her inside.  She was sent, to her surprise, not to the dungeons with Gale, but to a sparsely-appointed room.  Madge was locked inside and left with her grief.

Later that day she heard the lock scrape and the door swung inward.  Snow walked in, unarmed and unguarded.  Madge wished she had a knife, or even a sharp piece of glass, but the room was devoid of anything she could turn into a weapon.  He stood a safe distance from her and smiled cruelly.  “Thank you for your service, Lady Undersee.”

“Hawthorne,” she snarled.

Snow’s smile became amused.  “No no, that won’t do.  I can’t have you carrying the name of a traitor.  Your marriage will be annulled once young Lord Hawthorne is…disposed of.  You’ll make a lovely prize for Lord Crane.  He thought you might have been indifferent to Lord Hawthorne and would welcome the end of your marriage, but his error in judgment is minor compared to uncovering the rebellion.”

Madge’s heart turned to ice.  She had thought she would be executed alongside Gale, and her only comfort was even if Snow killed Gale first, she wouldn’t have long to live with her pain.

Snow’s smile grew as he saw her grasp his plan.  “Oh yes, my dear.  Your husband will be executed tomorrow, along with his delightful companions Lord and Lady Mellark.  But you are to be my warning.”

“Warning?”  Her voice trembled.

“If I executed you all, why, think of the melodramatic tragedy those more romantic members of my court would make of it.  But with you as a living reminder, they will have less incentive.  Three rebels betrayed by a scorned woman is far less likely to inspire more rebellion. I had thought you might be relieved to be free of your wedding vows, but it makes no matter.  They will go to their deaths thinking you betrayed them all.”  Madge opened her mouth to protest—to tell him she’d scream her innocence to the heavens—but he continued.  “And if you so much as clear your throat during the sentencing or execution, I can promise you, their deaths will be long and painful.  Particularly your husband’s.”

Madge sank to the floor, totally defeated.  Snow must have left and time must have passed, because all too soon she was summoned to the throne room.  She braced herself as she was escorted in, but there were no executioners in sight—this was only the sentencing.

Peeta and Katniss entered first, chained and bruised.  Peeta’s hands fluttered, as if he was reaching for his wife, but the guards separated them.  They kept their eyes trained forward, their faces expressionless as though they were lambs to the slaughter.

Gale had to be carried in.  He hung limp between the guards, his back a bloody mess.  He’d been flogged.  For what, she didn’t know.  Maybe for his defiance, maybe just for Snow’s amusement.  Madge felt as though she was being sentenced too, as Snow loudly proclaimed that the three traitors would die the next morning at sunrise.

Gale was dragged out—he never once looked at her.  Madge was returned to her room and left alone.  She searched for a way out, for a weapon, for anything, but Snow was one step ahead of her.  She curled into a corner and hugged her knees to her chest, wondering how she would survive this.  Or if she even wanted to.

The door creaked open but Madge didn’t look up.  It was probably her guards with another meal she wouldn’t be able to eat.  A gentle hand on her shoulder made her startle.

It was the avox.  Her eyes were sad and sympathetic as she handed Madge a thick dark cloak.  Madge looked at her, bewildered, but the avox took her hand and tugged to her to the door.  Madge knew it was practically suicide, but she did it anyway.  She threw the dark cloak on and set off down the hall on the avox’s heels, running as lightly as she could.  The stairs were entirely empty—whatever the avox had done to clear their way, it worked.  They dashed to the servants quarters and the avox motioned her out a small side door and held it open.  Madge started to run, assuming the avox would follow her, but the soft click of the door told her the avox was staying behind.  Madge’s heart was in her throat the entire time, but she saw no hint of people until she was well outside the back gate, running hard.

She heard the horses before she saw them.  She saw Delly first, her curly blonde hair glowing in the moonlight.  Thom stood next to her, holding the reigns to three horses.  The Mellarks were on one, Peeta slumped and pale.  Gale sat rigidly on another horse, his face a puffy mess of bruises and scratches.  She took comfort in the fact that he was sitting under his own power, but the way he avoided her gaze made her heart sank.  He believed Snow—he thought she’d betrayed him.

“Hurry,” Delly hissed, pushing her towards Gale’s horse.  Clumsily, she pulled herself up in front of Gale, careful not to jostle him to much.  Thom clucked and the horses started forward at a brisk canter.  Madge wanted to scream that they needed to gallop, but Peeta and Katniss seemed to be barely hanging on.  Madge held the reigns to their horse, Gale’s arms lightly around her waist.  He had yet to even acknowledge her.  An hour into their journey Delly and Thom fell into step beside them and Delly filled her in on the rebel allies in the castle that helped them all escape—they were headed back to the woods to gather the Everdeens and Hawthornes and then on to neighboring Treize for safety. 

A grey line spread across the horizon before they stopped to water the horses.  Madge climbed down stiffly and Gale followed.  Katniss helped Peeta to lean against a tree and curled up against him.  Thom took the reigns and lead the horses to the stream, their hooves breaking through the thin crust of ice and snow on the ground.  Madge tugged Gale aside.  “Gale, you—you have to understand.  I didn’t give him those letters.  I would never—“  Gale shook his head and walked away.  “Gale, please,” she begged.

He turned around, wincing as the motion pulled at his back.  “I know.  I know it wasn’t you.  I never believed that,” he said dully and turned away from her.

“Then why won’t you even look at me?”

“ _Because_ ,” he growled, turning back.  “I promised to protect you.  I failed.”  He stepped closer, reached out and brushed his fingers over the bruise on her jaw, the split on her lip.  “You were hurt because of me,” he said more softly.  “I can’t forgive myself.” 

Madge caught his hand and held it against her cheek.  “Gale, it’s—this isn’t your fault.  And I’m all right.  We’re both all right.  We’re safe.”  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him softly, too aware of their injuries.  Gale took a deep breath and pinned his forehead against hers.  He didn’t respond, but his eyes lost a little of their haunted look.

Thom approached and told them they had to keep moving.  They gingerly remounted, but this time Gale’s arms weren’t tentative in their grip of her waist.  He nuzzled his nose just behind her ear, breathing deeply.  He murmured his apologies the rest of the ride and she assured him over and over again that it wasn’t his fault.  The sky brightened as they left Panem behind them, headed to a new life—a life where they could choose each other freely.

A life where they did.

 

_One Year Later_

Madge stood in the doorway, drinking in the fresh spring morning.  Their home in Treize was much smaller and more rustic than her family’s manor in Panem, but it was theirs and it was free of the dark memories that had haunted their old home.  Snow was still in power, but they had found support for their nascent uprising here in Treize.  They were working behind the scenes, trying to move pieces into place so that when the rebellion did come, Snow wouldn’t stand a chance.  Things weren’t perfect, but they were safe.

And she had Gale.  She saw him emerging from the woods behind their home, tiny blue flowers clutched in his fist.  Gale broke into a wide grin when he saw her, that same smile that had stopped her heart those first few months.  He drew her close, snaking his arms around her waist.  “Morning, wife,” he murmured against her lips as he kissed her.

“Morning, husband,” she returned playfully, nibbling on his lower lip.  He liked that, she had learned, amongst a great many other things.

Gale also liked lifting her into his arms and setting her on the table, rucking her skirts up and sheathing himself inside of her.  Madge liked that too—so much that she had ceased wearing her drawers most days—almost as much as she liked taking him in her mouth and working him to release.  Of course, as much as she enjoyed that, it didn’t compare to when he would stretch her out over their bed and lap at her entrance until she screamed.

This morning Madge was impatient, however, so she took the forget-me-nots from his hand and laid them on the sideboard.  She boosted herself on the table and opened her legs, sending him a dark look and a smirk at the same time.  Gale understood and stepped between her knees, kissing her hard.  He slipped two fingers inside of her, testing, and moaned softly when he found how wet she was.  Gale unlaced his breeches and drew himself out, already hard with need.  Madge pulled him close and leaned back as he thrust inside her, swallowing his moan with a kiss.  He set a punishing rhythm, pushing deep inside of her and then pulling almost all the way out, driving her out of her mind with want.  Gale pinned his hand between them, teasing her to her peak before letting go himself.  Madge cupped his face in her hands, kissing him deeply as his hands squeezed her waist.

Nothing was the way she thought it would be on the day she married a man she’d never even met.

It was better.


End file.
